


Fake It

by Probably_Not_Captain_America



Category: Fantastic Four, Fantastic Four (Comicverse)
Genre: AU, Infamous Iron Man, Light Angst, M/M, Makeup Sex, Reconciliation, help me, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 10:30:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15435081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Probably_Not_Captain_America/pseuds/Probably_Not_Captain_America
Summary: Victor von Doom, in his Iron Man persona, has made more enemies than allies so far.Which makes it all the more surprising when an old friend shows up at his apartment, uncalled for and uninvited, and yet very welcome.Awkward conversations ensue.Bonus: Now available in Chinese!!http://sulerly.lofter.com/post/1d31b216_12c5ad9cd?sharefrom=lofter-android-6.0.7&shareto=qq





	Fake It

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. I mainly write for my own enjoyment. Sorry for potential bad writing, I never can resist cheesy romance. Enjoy? Maybe? God I love these two, they're my fav Marvel ship and there should be way more fics with them.  
> Song for this: Fake It by Bastille

Victor thinks he’s had better days.

He’s in Amsterdam, just returned from having taken out a Hydra base and only narrowly escaping SHIELD agents on his way back. His armour has taken some hits, he thinks, he’ll have to fix it later – but it’s not _his_ armour, it’s Tony’s, and on days like these, Victor wishes that it was still Tony wearing it.

_They’re ungrateful_ , he thinks. He _would_ think, if it wasn’t for the fact that 98% of the global population would have gladly supported the agents in trying to bring him down, the other two percent being those who don’t know him. To them, he is Doctor Doom, the most powerful super villain of this earth, and they would never waver in that belief, regardless of what he has done, what he does to protect them.

He’s is starting to think Benjamin may be right, after all. For a moment, he is tempted to think _why try?_ , but such notions are for lesser men. Doom will do what needs to be done, even if he has to do it alone. He always has.

Victor lands in the alleyway next to the apartment complex where he likes to take refuge when pursued. Here, he’s just the middle-aged man who rents the uppermost flat and pays twice the regular fee, so no one ever asks why he’s barely there. Only the landlady wonders sometimes, she seems to care about all of the house’s inhabitants, so when Victor enters the building, having removed his armour, he makes a mental note about telling her he’s back for a while. He doesn’t want to upset the tiny bubble of normality these surroundings offer him.

He scales the stairs, looking only a little beaten, and absently wonders what the other tenants must think of him. A businessman with an alcohol issue, perhaps, coming home at irregular hours or not at all for weeks on end, subtle bags under his eyes telling of a strainful life.

It matters not.

Victor arrives at his flat and searches his pockets for the key. No iris-scanning security measures controlling high-end titanium doors, just a key to a wooden door. Beggars can’t be choosers, it seems after all.

He turns the key, and immediately, he senses something is off. He doesn’t know just what yet, but his keen senses tell him that the flat has been disturbed in his absence.

He opens the door regardless. No enemy has ever bested Victor von Doom on his own grounds, and he plans to keep it that way. (Even if these aren’t exactly his grounds.)

Nothing happens. Victor stays wary, enters the dark apartment and throws the light switch when he closes the door behind him. No assassins jump put at him.

He’s almost disappointed.

He passes the wardrobe – no coat to hang – and enters the living room – and is almost surprised to see someone sitting at the dining table.

Almost surprised, because he was expecting trouble – very much surprised, however, when he finally realizes who that person is.

Messy hair, lean, slim, typical posture – there’s no mistaking it. It’s _him_.

Reed Richards.

Victor knows it’s him, he just does. Not one of his many impostors, no outer-space magic trickery. This is the real Reed, just sitting there, a single lamp turned on against the creeping darkness that settles into the apartment, looking at Victor like he’s never seen him before.

All Victor wants in that one moment is to punch him straight in the face, to hold him close, tell him he hates him and that he’s so, so sorry.

Doom does none of that, of course.

“Reed.” Victor says, inflectionless, an observation.

“Victor.” Reed answers.

It could hold the award for the worst conversation in all of history.

Victor looks away and turns to the kitchen counter.

“Can I offer you a drink?” he asks, and the words _displacement activity_ cross his mind. Victor gives a bitter smile. It’s _absurd_ , supremely so, but what else can he say?

What do you tell someone who has every reason to strangle you on sight but _never does_ , who literally changed the very fabric of reality to restore what you destroyed, who disappeared for months and now just sits at your dining table like nothing ever happened?

“No. But thanks.”, Reed says, always keeping up the manners, even in the most unlikely of situations. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Victor, and it’s unsettling, the way Reed looks at him.

“Very well. I trust you don’t mind”, Victor answers, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He’s never been one to turn to alcohol in times of hardship, but right now, he really needs a shot. This day could hardly get any worse, anyway.

He takes a sip and puts the glass aside. Victor looks back to Reed, assessing him.

Reed looks worn, Victor thinks, sloppily shaved, his cheeks a little more hollow, and his hair a little more white at the edges. Other than that, he’s still the same. At least, as far as Victor can tell. He can’t seem to tell a lot these days.

“So. Where have you been?” Victor asks, blankly staring at the opposite wall. This is awkward, he thinks.

“You know where I’ve been, Victor. Spare us both the lengthy answer.” Reed says. He’s still looking at Victor. “I think the far more interesting question would be: Where have _you_ been? You seem to get around a lot these days.”

Reed sounds almost normal, jovial, like they’re colleagues talking about this year’s vacation. It infuriates Victor as much as it calms him. It’s _absurd_ , Victor thinks again.

“I daresay I can spare us both _this_ lengthy answer. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what’s been going on.”

Silence. Reed doesn’t answer, but he finally looks away, lets his gaze wander around the plainly furnished room.

“Why are you here, Reed?” Victor says. The elephant in the room is addressed.

Reed looks back at Victor, his eyes unreadable.

“I think I’ll take that drink now, if you don’t mind.”

Reed Richards evading a question. That’s a first, Victor thinks, but he just shrugs indifferently and pours Reed a glass.

Reed gets up and crosses the distance to Victor, and when he takes the glass from his hand, their fingers brush. It sends a small shiver down Victor’s spine. Reed is _here_ , he’s _real_.

Reed leans his back to the kitchen counter, next to Victor, and he’s close enough that Victor can smell him now. Reed takes a long sip from his glass and sets it down next to Victor’s.

“I don’t know”, he finally says, “I guess I just wanted to see you. I have been curious about your face, you know.”

Victor gives Reed a look that borders on incredulous.

“Really, Richards? I thought it beneath you to gloat about such matters, regardless of what part you may have played in restoring my features.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Reed looks into Victor’s eyes, like he’s done a million times before, only now there’s no mask, no armour between his gaze and Victor’s skin. It’s just them.

Victor feels exposed, _naked_. He desperately wants his armour and a good reason to fight so he doesn’t have to deal with the way Reed always makes him feel, aggravated and uncomfortable and _human_ , so very human. But there is no fighting, not anymore, and Victor can’t escape thinking this time, so he steadily meets Reed’s gaze head on, intent on winning this strange challenge Reed set to him.

Then Reed slowly raises a hand to Victor’s cheek, letting his fingers run down the now-smooth skin ever so gently. Victor resists the urge to flinch.

Reed lets his fingers wander over Victor’s face, once the ruined countenance of Doctor Doom, now back to marble, unblemished white, because Reed in reshaping this universe decreed it should be so. Victor lets it happen, lets Reed trace his forehead, the back of his nose, his jaw.

Victor allows himself a brief second of closing his eyes and just _feeling_ when Reed lightly traces his lower lip with his thumb, the sensation making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Reed draws his hand back and tilts his head, like he always does when he’s thinking, and Victor doesn’t really know what to make of anything anymore. A trend lately, it would seem.

“You’re beautiful.” Reed whispers. He says it like it’s a hard _fact_ , rather than his observation, and Victor realizes that this is the first time Reed has seen his unmarred face in years. Victor takes an almost shaky breath.

“I missed you.” Victor says.

It’s all he can manage right now. Reed just understands, like he always does everything, and just looks at Victor with these brown eyes that seem to reach depths Victor could never quite comprehend.

And suddenly Reed throws his arms around Victor, buries his head in Victor’s shoulder and deeply inhales, almost sobbing, and holds him crushingly tight.

“I missed you, too” he says, almost to quiet to hear. And Victor understands; he understands that Reed doesn’t just mean the past year, he means the past _twenty_ years, the years Victor wasted in spite and mindless jealousy, encased in his armour and shutting everyone out.

Victor hugs him back, and it’s _pathetic_ , but it’s all he can do, and Reed presses his head even closer to Victor’s neck, so that Victor can feel his hot breath on his skin. The sensation is overwhelming, having Reed so close, holding him, _feeling his breath,_ no armour to separate them anymore.

Victor _wants_ Reed; he wants every little part of him. And Victor knows Reed wants _him,_ has wanted for far too long, and in this moment, there’s no Mister Fantastic and no Doctor Doom, it’s just Reed and Victor and no one else.

Reed pulls back a little, his face now somehow far too close to Victor’s, and before Victor can think or even act, Reed’s lips meet his and the world is gone.

_Making love_ would be a pointless euphemism for what they do that night.

There’s only Reed now, kissing Victor, holding him, and Victor _groans_ , a low sound in his chest, and fists a hand in Reed’s hair to deepen the kiss. Reed gently flicks his tongue out, and Victor opens his mouth, lets his own tongue roughly meet Reed’s. Their teeth click together, and this _is_ a battle, Victor thinks, just a little different, as he rather ungently bites Reed’s lower lip and is rewarded with a low, needy moan.

Reed’s hands slide under Victor’s shirt and Victor allows it, relishing the touch of bare hands on hot skin.

Finally, Reed has to break the kiss because they need air. Reed’s lips are red and plush from kissing and he’s panting, his hands resting on Victor’s chest underneath his turtleneck.

“ _Oh God, Victor_ ” he gasps, and Victor responds by biting his neck, hard enough to bruise, the taste of Reed’s skin making his head spin. Reed moans throatily and tilts his head to give Victor more access, and Victor pulls him back by his hair and puts a hand on the small of his back. Reed practically melts into his touch.

“ _Victor”,_ he says again, and it’s driving Victor _insane,_ the way Reed groans when Victor scrapes his teeth over his neck, the way Reed’s eyes flutter shut when Victor pushes his hand below Reed’s shirt, fully intent on getting it off him one way or another.

“I— _mmm—Victor—“,_ Reed moans, and Victor draws his head back for a moment to look at his face.

“Victor.” Reed says, calmer this time, collecting his breath. He tilts forward, and his lips brush Victor’s ear when he says “Fuck me like you always wanted to. Do it hard. _Now_.”

_Oh god yes._

“ _Reed_ ”, Victor says, voice thick with pleasure, as he pulls Reed’s shirt over his head, revealing his skinny form underneath.

Reed gets Victor’s pullover off, and Victor allows him to, because all he needs right now is that sinking feeling of skin on skin that he’s been missing for so long, and he has half a mind to guess that Reed feels the same.

One of them somehow procures lube and condoms (Victor doesn’t quite remember who it was the next morning), and Victor fucks Reed right there, on the kitchen counter, unceremoniously and messy and perfect. Reed moans and calls Victor’s name when he comes, and Victor groans Reed’s name in return.

They at least make it to the bedroom afterwards.

They spend most of the remaining night touching each other, and Victor tries to make up as best he can for the long years of battles between them, even though he knows it’s not enough, that it could never be enough, so he just pulls Reed closer and tries to pretend like nothing ever happened, because really, everything ever happened, and no force in the universe could ever make up for any of it.

But Reed just holds Victor like he’s precious, like he’s worth holding onto, and all Victor wants in that moment is for Reed to never let him go ever again.

 

In the morning, Victor wakes up to find Reed gone. It almost makes him laugh; only Reed Richards could manage to evade the grasp of Doom.

Victor gets up for a much-needed hot shower and an even-more-needed hot cup of coffee. Sipping his coffee in the warm morning light that seeps through the curtains, he spots a note left on the kitchen table, held in place by a small, rectangular device. In Reed’s unmistakable spidery handwriting, it said:

“ _Good morning, Victor. You know I couldn’t stay. This is an inter-dimensional transmitter, but I’m sure you know that. I also know you could usually build one yourself, but right now, you seem to be a little short on equipment, so I figured I’d leave you this one. If you need me, just use it. And yes, I guess that was the science-y version of “call me”. Stay safe._

_-Reed_ ”

Victor puts the note back and hides a smile behind his coffee cup as he surmises that the last twenty-four hours may have been among the oddest he has ever encountered.

And that is saying something.

 

 


End file.
